


Window to the Past

by Chibiness87



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gillian Anderson is a goddess, Inspired by Twitter, MSR, UST, there i said it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: Summary: She is stunning.Alternative Summary: GA’s twitter pic made me write this fic!





	Window to the Past

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Gillian Anderson is a fucking goddess. That is all. (This fic is totally inspired by a twitter post from said goddess from 10th June 2018.)

**Window to the Past** , by **chibiness87**  
**Rating** : T. Mulder swears a little.  
**Spoiler** / **Season** : No real spoilers. Set sometime between Amor Fati and Millennium.  
**Disclaimer** : Not mine.

 **Summary** : She is stunning.  
**Alternative** **Summary** : GA’s twitter pic made me write this fic.

* * *

 

 _Every photograph is a cenotaph_  
_won’t you stay here a while?_  
_In a flash you’ll see you belong to me,_  
_all I need is a smile_  
-Sophie Ellis Bextor- _Love is a camera full of memories_

* * *

 

He finds it tucked away between the pages of an old book.

He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but ever since he almost had his head sliced open and was saved at the last minute, he’s been hanging out at her apartment more. Restless energy has his flicking across the old titles that line her bookcase, the mix of classic and scientific literature a psychologist’s paradise to her psyche. Not that he would ever profile her. Not that he would even know where to start. He picks a book at random, one of the ones with a medically sounding name, spine cracking as he flicks through it for a moment. Habit has him turning it upside down, shaking it gently, making sure A) all pages are still attached, and B) no forgotten trinkets or notes have been left behind. A square flutters to the floor, and he places the book down on the table, eager hands reaching for the note a young Scully has scribbled to herself, eager for this snapshot into her life before him.

What he holds in him hand now is not a note, however. No. It’s so much more. He takes in the visage before him, the book lying forgotten. At first glance he thinks it’s of her sister, but then he sees the shape and shade of her eyes, eyes he would recognise anywhere, and he blinks. Swallows. He knows he’s staring. Gawping, he thinks is the technical term. And maybe, later, he’ll feel guilty for that. But not right now. Not with this treasure trove in his hand.

She is stunning.

Daring and defiant, looking at the camera out of the corner of her eye, even she tucks a cigarette behind her ear. The black leather of her jacket is a stark contrast to the red of her hair and her nails and the soft hues of her skin, even then, and there is even a hint of a nose ring in her right nostril. He’s always wondered if she was always like the person he first met, all those years ago. And now he has his answer.

No.

Not even close.

This is not the Scully that worked hard to prove herself as an FBI agent. This isn’t even the Scully that tried to make her parents proud by going to med school. In fact, he has a hard time placing the name Scully to the picture at all.

Because, in this photograph, she is not _Scully_.

She is so much more than _Scully_.

The person in this picture is the Dana he always wishes he had known. This is the Dana that sneaked cigarettes from her mother’s purse, who set a rabbit free on her brother just because she could. This is the Dana of her youth, before the evils of the world became as familiar to them both as the back of their hands.

And fuck if it isn't the hottest thing he has ever seen in his whole goddamn life.

“Mulder?”

He blinks, long and slow, dragging his eyes away from the image before him to the real life version at his side. His eyes flick to her nose for a moment, trying to see if there is any evidence of the place where the nose ring sits in the picture in his hand. Her makeup is softer these days, the hint of the mole above her lip (also a personal favourite) slightly more pronounced than in the days when she was still shiny and new, but he still cannot tell if the faint indentation on her right nostril is a dimple or the proof he’s searching for.

“What, do I have something on my face?” She moves her hand to swipe at the spot his eyes have focused on, and he reaches out to stop her. The photo falls to the floor between them.

“What’s…?” She bends down, picks it up, and stares. “Where did you find this?”

He’s not sure, but he thinks she’s blushing. Years, he’s known her for years, and he has never seen her like this. Never seen her embarrassed. It throws him. “Uh…”

“I don’t even know who this is,” she says, eyes soft, lip caught between her teeth, making her appear young. Fragile. (Jesus, he wants to kiss her.) “I don’t recognise her at all.”

“Don’t you?” His voice is a soft rasp, and he knows she can hear the desire there. Hell, a deaf man would be able to hear the desire there.

She’s definitely blushing now. Pocketing the picture, hands crossing across her chest in a self-conscious manner, she doesn’t quite meet his eyes when she whispers, “What can I do to make you forgot you ever saw that?”

“Forget…” He gasps. Never has he been so thankful for his ability to memorise the smallest detail; the photo is already cemented in his mind. “ _Scully_ ,” he breathes, “I want to _frame_ it.”

“Mulder.” She ducks her head. Bites her lip. “Be serious.”

“I am.” She looks up at him sharply, and he nods his head quickly. “I am being serious, Scully. You should have that framed.” He wants to say it belongs in a museum of art, but the thought of someone else seeing her in the way he sees her puts paid to that plan pretty damn quick. He can be quite the selfish bastard when the matter calls for it. And this? This definitely calls for it.

Scully, it seems, isn't in the same frame of mind as him, however. “Why? So I have a reminder of what I used to be?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. Then immediately after, “No.” Sliding his hand down her arm, pulling it free from the grasp she has on herself, he twines his fingers with hers. His heart gives a small jump at the contact. At his daring to touch her like this. (Christ, he’s pathetic.) “Not as a reminder of who you used to be. But a statement of who you are.”

“Mulder.”

“You’re beautiful.” He’s deadly serious now. The desire buried beneath a need for her to acknowledge the fact. “Then. Now. All of you. Inside and out.”

There are tears brewing in her eyes, even as she ducks her head from him once more. He feels a pull towards her, wants to kiss her. Again and for the first time. He wonders if this Scully will sock him in the cheek like the last Scully he kissed.

The moment draws out, long and aching, a gossamer thread holding them still, together and apart at the same time. But just like always when one of the ventures too close to the invisible line they have drawn, she pulls back, and the moment fades. She disappears into her bedroom, still one of the few places he has yet to fully venture into, taking the photograph with her.

They’re getting closer, he can feel it. Christmas is fast approaching, and he wonders if he can call a kiss his gift from her this year.

Knows he’s too chicken to ask.

 _New Year’s_ , he promises himself. _He’ll kiss her on New Year’s._

He does, and it’s the start of something wonderful.

(Months later, lying entwined on her bed, he’ll spot the picture again on her bedside table, standing proud in its simple frame, and he’ll smile.)

(Just over a year later, it’s one of the few things he swipes from her before going on the run. He'll take it with him again when they both have to disappear. And, years after that, when they find themselves a home, he’ll bring it out and set it on the nightstand despite her protests. And it will remain there. Forever.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
